It's almost Christmas, so you know what that means! No, not chestnuts roasting on an open fire, nor Jack Frost nipping at your nose...it means it's time for the annual office holiday party, where you get to hang around after work with the people you spend eight hours a day already. Remember, however, just because it's a party, it's still work, so dress well, behave sensibly, and for heaven's sake, don't try smooching all the women in the copy room just because you've had a couple drinks. Still, it could be worse: you could be at this office party:
Even more dangerous than the office Christmas party is the office Christmas party gift exchange. Every year millions of workers engage in trading off fruitcakes and Starbucks gift cards to people because they simply don't know enough about the recipient's home life to get them a proper gift. And especially pity the guy who draws his boss's name out of the Secret Santa hat. Sure, you could just go with the usual Hickory Farms Cheese Log and Summer Sausage gift pack, but why risk ticking off your boss by getting him a gift he doesn't really want? For instance, is it really the greatest idea to give your boss a copy of Carrie Fisher's novel Postcards from the Edge? Probably not! Don't let this happen to you:
Tsk, tsk, tsk. A simple beginner's gift-giving mistake that leads to irreparable career-track setback. If you happen to draw your boss's name for Secret Santa, don't get all choked up: simply have your droid log onto the galactic interstellarnet and check out what he really wants for Christmas Life Day on Darth Vader's Amazon.com Wishlist!:
Um, I'm sorry, you'll have to speak up...what did you say?
Really? I woulda thought you'd say Martin Luther King Jr. Day, or Kwanzaa. But you really prefer...
Well, that's great. I bet you're gonna get some fantastic gifts. What do you want for Christmas?
So how's the Hero for Hire business? Are you working on any special cases this holiday season?
How do you plan on celebrating Christmas?
Really? When do the festivities begin?
And I'm sure you'll be decorating the place and making it look so festive! Say, where do you think you'll put your Christmas tree this year?
Whoops, speaking of Santa, here he comes!
I think you're right! But you'd better get to bed, Luke. If you don't Santa will never come. You can't stay up all night!
Oh, you know, Mister Cage, I'm been trying to remember...that song "Last Christmas"...who was that sung by?
Well gosh, thanks for talking to us, Mister Cage. One last question: if you were to read any kind of little stuffed animal blogger, which one would be your favorite?
Eggs, Beans, and Crumpets. It's more than just a 1940 collection of Wodehouse short stories, it's a cheering and heartening meal that fills in all the corners and leaves you fortified for an entire day of adventure, excitement, romance, and chasing down stolen Pekes. I've written earlier of my grand fondness for the quintessential English breakfast of egg bacon chips & beans—well, now here's the Wodehouse variety, and I'm starving. Let's tuck in, shall we?
Oh! Except turn to the first page of P.G.'s platter and we quickly discover that the yummy eggs and savory beans are not for eating, but shorthand for members of the Drones Club, defined by their late breakfasts, no doubt, in the same way that the patrons of the Anglers Rest in the Mr Mulliner stories are defined by their drinks. For example:
A Bean and a Crumpet were in the smoking-room of the Drones club having a quick one before lunch, when an Egg who had been seated at the writing-table in the corner rose and approached them.
'How many "r's" in "intolerable"?' he asked.
'Two," said the Crumpet. 'Why?'
'I am writing a strong letter to the committee,' explained the Egg, 'drawing their attention to the intolerable...Great Scot!' he cried, breaking off. 'There he goes again!'
A spasm contorted his face. Outside in the passage a fresh young voice had burst into a gay song with a good deal of vo-de-o-de-o about it. The Bean cocked an attentive ear as it died away in the direction of the dining-room.
'Who is this linnet?' he inquired.
'Bingo Little, blast him. He's always singing nowadays. That's what I'm writing my strong letter to the Committee about—the intolerable nuisance of this incessant heartiness of his. Because it isn't only his singing. He slaps back. Only yesterday he can sneaking up behind me in the bar and sloshed me between the shoulder-blades, saying "Aha!" as he did so. Might have choked me. How many "s's" in "incessant"?'
'Three,' said the Crumpet.
All's well with Bingo, obviously, and all's well with Wodehouse in this collection. Like a hearty breakfast buffet, there's a variety and heaps of it: four Bingo Little stories, a Mr Mulliner tale, a short non-series romance, and three Ukridge stories. Despite the menu consisting of the non-gourmet members of the Wodehouse world—there's no Jeeves and Bertie, no Lord Emsworth in here—this is a joyous and cheerful collection, and like the best frozen orange juice, concentrated for intense taste and freshness. I'm rambled on before on how Wodehouse is as skillful with a short story as he is with an extended novel so I won't repeat my argument, but I'll wager that while there's enough plot in each of these tales that he certainly could have expanded them each to a novel, in their short story form they're 'just right' with the minimum daily requirement of chuckles and guffaws.
I'm especially fond of Bingo Little stories wherever they pop up. As an ancillary character in the early Bertie Wooster stories you might argue that reading about Bingo Little instead of Jeeves might be a bit like an Inspector Lestrade mystery when all you want is another Sherlock Holmes adventure, but Wodehouse wisely does not repeat the formula of the Bertie stories for his best pal. In fact, it's an entire different sort of plot, one that owes more to Wodehouse's early Psmith and Ukridge stories—Bingo's never-ending quest to make a quick quid—but with a difference, and a very vital one at that: Bingo's married. To the beautiful and clever Rosie M. Banks, romance novelist, and their union has been blessed by perhaps the only recurring baby character in Wodehouse's canon, the potato-faced infant Algernon. Bingo as a married man through these stories is an interesting twist Wodehouse seldom explores elsewhere, as most of his love stories end with an engagement; we never see the wedding, much less the marriage.
Bingo's married life is different, but this doesn't put the kibosh on a good story. Sure, Rosie may be sweet, but she's firm and lays down the law in her household: no gambling for Bingo. This, of course, does not stop Bingo, who sneaks out to have a flutter on the ponies whenever Rosie is on an out-of-town book tour or at a charity luncheon or otherwise has her back turned for more than ten seconds. Prone to accepting dreams and omens as signs of sure sporting winners , Bingo has the usual luck when he bets:
'And my friend, Mr Little,' said Oofy in conclusion, 'wants a tenner on Spotted Dog for the Prix Honoré Sauvan.'
And Bingo was just about to shake his head and say that he didn't think his wife would like him to bet, when the glorious Riviera sunshine, streaming in through the window by which they sat, lit up Oofy's face and he saw that it was a perfect mass of spots. A moment later, he perceived that the bookie had a pink spot on his nose and the waiter, who was not bringing the bill, a bountifully spotted forehead. A thrill shot through him. These things, he knew, are sent to us for a purpose.
'Right ho,' he said. 'A tenner at the current odds.'
And then they all went off to the races. The Prix Honoré Sauvan was the three o'clock. A horse called Lilium won it. Kerry second, Maubourget third, Ironside fourth, Irresistible fifth, Sweet and Lovely sixth, Spotted Dog seventh. Seven ran.
More often than not Bingo has complicated the situation by betting the tenner Rosie had given him to buy baby Algernon a present, or hocking a brooch of Rosie's in order to bet, or (in extreme circumstances) heisting a neighbor's Pekinese dog to replace one of Rosie's he's inadvertently lost. It's the sort of scheme that Psmith and Ukridge constantly get into, with wild and comic consequences. Yet here's the difference. Bingo always wins at the end. It's always by sheer luck or coincidence or happenstance rather than by planning or skill, but just as he's taken to the edge of despair and discovery and probably divorce, the fates pour down salvation and Bingo's pockets are filled again. Forget the luck of the Bodkins...there's no luckier man in the Wodehouse world than Bingo Little. And yet does he learn his lesson and avoid temptation in each subsequent story? To our delight, he does not.
I'd like to think that Bingo inadvertently wins where others in similar stories good-naturedly lose simply because of the good fate he has in being married. We seldom see any married Wodehouse heroes (one early Ukridge novel, Love Among the Chickens, covers his post-marriage life, but that's a rare bird indeed). That the one who is married persistently and consistently comes up on top can't be a simple coincidence...in fact, Bingo's salvation comes again and again because he is married. Rosie confesses a weakness by gambling at the tables herself, diverting attention away from Bingo's initial losses; her persistence in getting him a job brings him into contact with a potential employer who's trying to keep his own weaknesses a secret from his wife, and so on—sure, Bingo would be in hot water single or married, but the solution to his troubles usually comes because of a connection to his wife. Sure, Wodehouse wrote to formula, and he could have just as well have made a single hero the beneficiary of the Little luck. But despite her firmness, Rosie is no shrew, and she genuinely and happily loves and supports her sometimes gormless man. And that's a very telling thing indeed: the love that drives so many Wodehouse comedy-romances can and does persist after the wedding breakfast, and whether she's knowing of the situation or not, the love of a good woman often saves a good man from his own foibles:
'Bingo,' said Mrs Bingo, 'we always tell each other everything, don't we?'
'Do we? Oh, yes. Yes.'
'Because when we got married, we decided that that was the only way. I remember your saying so on the honeymoon.'
'Yes,' said Bingo, licking his lips and marveling at the depths of fatheadedness to which men can sink on their honeymoons.
The four Bingo stories are top-notch and my favorite in the collection, but there's great stuff spread out all across the whole buffet. From "Romance at Droitgate Spa," the saga of Freddy Fitch-Fitch, who's fallen in love with a magician's assistant:
'So you are Mr Fitch? So you are Mr Fitch? Ha! Fiend!'
'Eh?'
'I am not mistaken. You are Frederick Fitch?'
'Frederick Fitch-Fitch.'
'I beg your pardon. In that case, I should have said "Fiend! Fiend!"'
Here's clever, clever Ukridge solving the problem of needing to impress his fiancée Mabel and get into Ascot, even though he doesn't have the proper suit jacket or top hat:
'I say,' I said, 'I think you've got something on the back of your coat.'
'Eh?' said the bloke, trying to squint round and look between his shoulder-blades—silly ass.
'It's a squashed tomato or something.'
'A squashed tomato?'
'Or something.'
'How would I get a squashed tomato on my coat?'
'Ah!' I said, giving him to understand with a wave of the hand that these were deep matters.
'Very curious,' said the bloke.
'Very,' I said. 'Slip off your hat and let's have a look at it.'
He slid out of the coat, and I was on it like a knife. You have to move quick on these occasions, and I moved quick. I had the coat out of his hand and the top-hat off the table where he had put it, and was out of the door and dashing down the stairs before he could utter a yip.
I put on the coat, and it fitted like a glove. I slapped the top-hat on to my head, and it might have been made for me. And then I went out into the sunshine, as natty a specimen as ever paced down Piccadilly.
Naturally, as is par for Ukridge's course, the wheel of fate turns full around when he later discovers the chappie he pinched the hat and coat off was not an anonymous victim but in fact Mabel's father. The romance is, of course, off; the engagement broken. Unlike Bingo, therefore, Ukridge loses. But at least he gets a natty hat and jacket out of the adventure.
My favorite segment of this whole book, however, is not in a Bingo Little story but at the end of that same Ukridge story, a lovely little O. Henryesque twist that had me—had everyone reading the story, I imagine—flipping back twenty pages to the beginning of the story to check out something they no doubt saw but didn't register on them. And when it does, you will, as I did, laugh out loud. Here's the end of the story, where Ukridge advises his Watson, writer James Corcoran, to turn his narrated adventure into a short story:
'You might make a story out of that, Corky,' said Ukridge.
'I might,' I said.
'All profits to be shared on a strictly fifty-fifty basis, of course.'
'Of course.'
Ukridge brooded.
'Though it really wants a bigger man to do it justice and tell it properly, bringing out all the fine shades of the tragedy. It wants somebody like Thomas Hardy or Kipling, or somebody.'
'Better let me have a shot at it.'
'All right,' said Ukridge. 'And, as regards a title, I should call it "His Lost Romance," or something like that. Or would you suggest something terse and telling, like "Fate" or "Destiny"?'
'I'll think of a title,' I said.
And thus the story ends. So flip back 15 pages to page 130 and see what the story has been titled, and you'll come across this on the top of the page:
"A Bit of Luck for Mabel"
I challenge your Updikes, your T. Coraghessan Boyles, you Dave Eggerseses to come up with quite such a lovely and mirthful self-referential title.
Mmmmmm, Eggerseses. As usual, if you want to buy Eggs, Beans and Crumpets, I'll make it easy for you: simply click on the usual Amazon.com link below:
Oh, wait. Those will feed your tummy but not your need for a fine Wodehouse book. Instead, try the link to the right. Or better yet...also, try the link to the right. Get yourself a book, have yourself a proper fry up, and snuggle in for a lovely breakfast. And if you have the food but not the book? Well, I have a couple copies of Eggs, Beans and Crumpets (a Penguin paperback and the Everyman/Overlook hardcover), so here's a deal for you: you come by with the food and make breakfast, and I'll let you read one of my copies over breakfast. Can't say fairer than that, can you? Don't forget the butter.
Top L: Nick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. #4 (September 1968), art by Jim Steranko
Top R: 100 Bullets #12 (July 2000), art by Dave Johnson
Bottom L: Wolverine v .2 #27 (June 2005), art by Greg Land and Richard Isanove
Bottom R: Iron Man: Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. trade paperback (2007), art by Adi Granov
(Click picture to helicarri-size) See also, kinda.
*pSychedelic Hip Images of Escher-Like Disorientation
Sure, Spider-Man teamed up with The Not Ready for Prime Time players on Saturday Night Live in 1978...
...and the Avengers appeared on Late Night with David Letterman in 1984...
...but the man who did it first, the hero who burst onto a 1977 network TV show before any of these super-heroes, was, of course, ever-lovin' blue-eyed Mister Benjamin J. Grimm: The Thing, fighting a giant robot duplicate of himself (running amok on the set of a Fantastic Four movie), a Friday Night Fight that busts right onto TV's hottest game show of the late 1970s. No, not Match Game '77 or Let's Make a Deal...but Chuck Barris's cult classic The Gong Show!
All panels are from Fantastic Four Annual #12 (1977), script by Marv Wolfman, penciled by Bob Hall (except for faces of Gong Show celebrities which are penciled by Marie Severin), inked by Bob Wiacek, colored by Glynis Wein, lettered by John Costanza
It's pretty fair game to poke fun at Marvel for jumping on board pop culture bandwagons long after their ships have sailed (to mix a metaphor), but give the House of Ideas some credit in their timely TV team-ups: this FF annual came out in the summer of 1977, only one year into the four year run of the popular Gong Show. 1981's Avengers #239 appeared in 1984, just when the popular Late Night with David Letterman was in year 2 of its 11 year run on NBC, and MTU #74 captured the fervor for Saturday Night Live in its fourth year on the air. The show's still running but I'm not 'lowed to stay up that late and watch it—don't weep for me, Bully-fans, I'm in love with Miss Tina Fey on 30 Rock and I can watch that all I want. So, for every Dazzler that premieres after disco is dead and buried or U.S. 1 that debuts long after the "Convoy" 45s have been tossed in the 49¢ bin, at least Marvel had its finger on the pulse of what the nation was watching in those colorful pre-cable days. Either that or Stan had cut a contract with GE: all three of the shows featured in these comics ran on NBC. I wonder how many free light bulbs they got in the Bullpen for that deal?
Today, of course, I'd like to see Marvel do the same. Why not Daredevil on Law & Order: Criminal Intent? Watch the sexy fun as Tony Stark moves onto Wisteria Lane and seduces all the Desperate Housewives! Doctor Don Blake guest-stars and is quickly nicknamed "McGoldilocks" on a steamy Grey's Anatomy! Nick Fury pops up from hiding to show Jack Bauer how it's done on 24! And of course, The Hulk on America's Next Top Model.
Gosh. I really wanna run Marvel Comics now. Sigh.
Unknown to most, Bahlactus is the true face of the Unknown Comic.
Much as I'd wish otherwise, there aren't many Wodehouse books whose plots spiral around a stuffed animal. Oh sure, I can see it now: Bully at Blandings. What Ho, Bully!The Inimitable Bully. Eggs, Bully and Crumpets. But sadly, I'm not in any of 'em. But there is a Wodehouse that stars...well, if not stars, then certainly would be the poorer for the absence of...a stuffed animal: a plush Mickey Mouse that serves the vital purpose of being the essential Silver Cow Creamer (S.C.C.) in The Luck of the Bodkins (1935).
I've spoken of The Luck of the Bodkins in brief previously, so I'm chuffed as Clarabelle Cow to be picking it up this week—it's one of my favorite Wodehouses (Wodehice?), and I've mentioned it so frequently you might think I've already reviewed it. Au contraire, ma petite fromage! You might be thinking of the other Monty Bodkin novels: Heavy Weather (which precedes the events of Luck) or Pearls, Girls, and Monty Bodkin which immediately follows it, even though it was written almost forty years later. So stop complaining at Miss Rowling because she took two or three years between volumes of her The Amazing Bespectacled Boy Wizard Does Fabulous Things with a Wand and His Two Tag-Along Mates series: Wodehouse made us wait nearly four decades for the trilogy capper.
Despite—or, if Wodehouse was going in for a touch of the old irony, because of—the title, Monty Bodkin is not having an easy time of it. When we left him in Heavy Weather, he was being forced to hold down a job for a period of one year before J. G. Butterwick, protective father of Monty's fiancée Gertrude. It's not that Monty needs money—he's simply rolling in the stuff—but that old J. G. won't allow Gertrude to slip on the wedding band to a man with no earning capability. Easy enough for Monty to solve: he's bought himself a position as a nominal employee in a detective agency, simply paying to be employed for a year to fulfill the contract. And as he steps aboard the R.M.S. Atlantic for the trans...uh...Atlantic crossing, all seems right with the world, with Gertrude Butterwick, and with a future so bright, Monty will have to wear a tinted monocle.
Of course, there's storms on the horizon. Not literally (although Wodehouse fits in a swift but rather nifty description of exactly how you feel during rough weather on the high seas), but storms in the form of titian-tressed Hollywood starlet Lotus Blossom (whadda name!), her fiancé Ambrose Tennyson (Gertrude Butterwick's cousin), Ambrose's brother Reggie Tennyson, who's in love with Mabel Spence, who is the sister-in-law of Ivor Llewellyn. Yes, that Ivor Llewellyn: Hollywood movie mogul, and frequent guest star in Wodehouse's world whenever a portly producer of pictures (moving) is called for. Circle the whole cast of characters around like wagons under siege now, because Llewellyn's startled and suspicious of "professional detective" Monty. Why? What would make a powerful man of commerce and producer like Llewellyn (who, as an aside, really needs his own Wikipedia entry, since the number one Google result in searching for his name turns up my own blog) quake in his five hundred dollar spats? Why, the shadow of his off-stage but powerfully-presenced wife Grayce, who has ordered Llewellyn to smuggle a valuable $50,000 pearl necklace into New York without paying the duty. Llewellyn's sure Monty's spying on him and will toss his posterior in the pokey the moment he sets foot on American soil. So Llewellyn will do anything, anything to have the problem of how to get the necklace into America safely...
Most of The Luck of the Bodkins except for the opening chapters and closing chapters is set on board the Atlantic, and while it may not be as brilliant a shipboard comedy as that paragon of passenger sail A Night at the Opera, Wodehouse gets a great deal of guffaws and giggles out of the conventions of transatlantic passage. Monty is unceremoniously shuffled from room to room throughout the voyage to put distance between himself and the alluring, flirty Lotus Blossom (or to do the same for Reggie), and there's much fun to be had over a shipboard concert, but the star of the Atlantic (and the Sensational New Character Find of 1935) is Albert Peasemarch, the loquacious ship's porter, who firmly wedges himself into the affairs of every character in a cheerful and meddling way, as when he advises an inattentive and daydreaming Monty on affairs of the heart:
'The fact of the matter is, sir, women haven't got the heads men have got. I believe it's something to do with the bone structure.'
'True," said Monty. He adjusted his tie and looked at it critically in the mirror. A little sigh escaped him. It was not a bad tie. He would go further, it was a jolly good tie. But it was not the tie with the pink roses on the dove-grey background.
'Take my old mother,' proceeded Albert Peasemarch, with that touch of affectionate reproach which comes to a thoughtful man when he contemplates the shortcomings of the opposite sex. 'Always losing and forgetting things, she is. She could never keep her spectacles by her for two minutes on end. Many a rare hunt I've had for them when I was a young chap. She's have lost those spectacles if she'd been alone on an iceberg.'
'Eh?'
'My mother, sir.'
'On an iceberg?'
'Yes, sir.'
'When was your mother ever on an iceberg?'
Albert Peasemarch perceived that his remarks had not secured his overlord's undivided attention.
In fact, so boisterously bombastic is Peasemarch that the front dust jacket of one of my editions of The Luck of the Bodkins proudly declares "Introducing Albert Peasemarch—steamship steward extraordinary, who will take his rightful place beside Jeeves, Psmith, Mr. Mulliner and the other Wodehouse immortals." Well, not exactly. But he does dramatically liven up this book, and like Jeeves himself, provides the twist ending that brings a happy conclusion to the loving couples, every man and girl jack and jacqueline of them, and even necklace-relieved Ivor Llewellyn is whistling a happy tune by the final page.
Which is not to say that there aren't, like waves upon the stormy sea, many ups and downs on the voyage. There's—just off the top of my head—the flirty message written in brilliant red lipstick by Lotus Blossom on the wall of Monty's stateroom bath. The tattoo on Monty's chest proclaiming his love for "Sue" rears its inked head again after complicating matters in Heavy Weather. Monty convincing Gertrude that Reggie is a dastardly liar to help him reconcile with her after a spat, only to have that same argument blow up in his face later in the novel when Reggie tries to argue to Gertrude that Monty is on the level and not making woo-eyes at Lotus Blossom. Don't forget Lotus's charming pet, Wilfred the toothy alligator, stowed away in a basket on board (luckily escaping the fatal fate of Eustace the monkey in Uneasy Money).
And oh, that plush Mickey Mouse? Why, he gets the most attention of them all. Bought as a gift for Gertrude by Monty, this charming stuffed toy is actually hollow with a screw-off head so you can put chocolates in him. While I heartily approve of the concept and especially the practice of putting chocolates into your nearest stuffed animal, the idea of screwing off my head to do so caused me to wince and cry out when I first read it in the book. But the plush mouse is passed back and forth from Gertrude to Monty (whenever she is angry with him she furiously returns it). Lotus literally takes the Mickey, holding it for ransom to get Monty to convince Ivor Llewellyn to give Ambrose back his job, Llewellyn having backed out of a contract when he discovered Ambrose Tennyson was not the Tennyson. And hey, wouldn't a stuffed animal with a hollow compartment in it be a dandy place to hide a pearl necklace you might need to smuggle through customs? Could be! Um, only in theory, of course. Please do not use me to defraud the United States Customs authority the next time we are on a transatlantic trip together.
The Luck of the Bodkins holds a special place in my heart not merely for putting a plush brethren front and center in the action but also for being, I think, one of Wodehouse's most delightful comedies of error: complicated character connections made crystal clear by Wodehouse' precise and lyrical writing, and an plot that id an elaborate balancing-act: add a pebble to either side and the whole shebang teeters precariously, but never to the point of total knock-it-down disaster. Wodehouse is the master of tossing just the right pebble to watch the action rock back and forth, and even though by the end we've got our sea legs and are rocking right along with him, he as usual always has a few final twists to give the last chapter a breathless breakneck speed.
And of course, his writing. There are so many little Post-It™ tabs sticking out of my reading copy of The Luck of the Bodkins that I easily could have made this entire column just excerpts from the novel which made me giggle with glee. Here're a few of my favorite bits:
The steward's face suddenly cleared. He looked like a man who has been poring over a clue in a crossword puzzle, at a loss to divine what 'large Australian bird' can possibly be, and in an unexpected flash has had it come to him. Just as such a man will quiver in every limb and cry 'Emu!', just as Archimedes on a well-known occasion quivered in every limb and cried 'Eureka!'—so now did Albert Peasemarch quiver in every limb and cry 'Coo!'
'Coo, sir!' cried Albert Peasemarch.
And...
A sudden illumination came to Gertrude.
'Why, how silly of me. You're sailing too, aren't you?'
'Well, would I be up at a ghastly hour like this, if I wasn't?'
'Of course, yes. The family are sending you off to Canada, to work in an office. I remember hearing father talking about it.'
'He,' said Reggie coldly, 'was the spearhead of the movement.'
'Well, it's about time. Work is what you want.'
'Work is not what I want. I hate the thought of it.'
Here's Ivor Llewellyn reading an alarming letter from his shrew of a wife, Grayce:
Mr Llewellyn took the bulky envelope from her and opened it. As he perused its contents by the light of the library window, his lower jaw drifted slowly from its moorings, so that by the time he had finished his second chin had become wedged into the one beneath it.
And Monty getting the last word in edgewise over Albert Peasemarch:
'I am, of course, aware,' proceeded Albert Peasemarch, with a dignified humility which became him well, 'that it is not my place to offer criticism or censure, but if I may take the liberty of saying so, I have become respectfully attached to you in the course of the voyage, sir, and I have your best interests at heart. And I say—Is this wise? If you insist upon me taking this letter to Miss Blossom, I will, of course, do so, being always willing to oblige, but I say again—Is this wise?'
'Peasemarch,' said Monty, 'you're an ass.'
And, of course:
Novelists of the virile school ought to be prohibited by law from having themselves photographed with pipes in their mouths. It is not fair on those of the public who suddenly catch sight of them. It makes them look so strong and stern that the observer cannot but sustain a nasty shock.
With all the lovey-doveyness and happy endings going on that reunite Monty and Gertrude, however, it's interesting to remember that in the eventual sequel, Pearls, Girls, and Monty Bodkin, Monty eventually does find his one True Love—and it ain't Gertrude. So, to quote another brilliant bard who knew a thing or too about affairs of the heart, Monty and Gertrude's storm-tossed romance in The Luck of the Bodkins is, eventually, much ado about nothing. But what an ado!
You too can coo an ado by heading over to Amazoo...er, zon dot com and clicking yourself up your very own copy of The Luck of the Bodkins in the link to the right. Me, I've already got several copies of this seafaring classic, including the Everyman Wodehouse hardcover reissue, two versions of a war-era US hardcover reprint by Triangle Press (with one that's delightfully dustjacketed with that blurb heralding Albert Peasemarch as the new comic superstar), and two versions of a Penguin mass market-sized paperback, both of which feature illustrations of that rodent royale, the stuffed Mickey Mouse, on their covers:
...neither of which looks, really, anything at all like the real Mickster of 1935—say, in his classic cartoon "The Band Concert"...
But hey, I'm not complaining. I know how litigious Disney is, and the last thing I want them to do is to sue Mister Wodehouse, his publishers, and, because I'm cheerfully working my way through a Wodehouse a Week, me. I'd much rather stay at home and stuff the hollow spot in my tummy with chocolates.
Psycho-Kinesis: Moving Matter with the Mind (book)
Black Mask starring Jet Li (DVD)
Acme Burn Cream Ointment
Remembering Mother, Finding Myself: A Journey of Love and Self-Acceptance (book)
Foil, Saber, and Epee Fencing: Skills, Safety, Operations, and Responsibilities (book)
The Dark Side: An Erotic Thriller (DVD)
It's Just a Matter of Balance: A Very Personal Story of Amputee Rehabilitation
Behind the Mask by Fleetwood Mac (CD)
Whining: 3 Steps to Stop It Before the Tears and Tantrums Start (book)
Saber Light 60 LED Cordless Rechargeable LED Worklight
Having Twins: A Parent's Guide to Pregnancy, Birth and Early Childhood (book)
Reclaiming Higher Ground (book)
Black Like Me (book)
Novus Plastic Polish
Functional and Aesthetic Reconstruction of Burned Patients (book)
The Essential Guide to Volcano Survival (CD-ROM)
The Anger Control Workbook
The Force Program: The Proven Way to Fight Cancer (book)
Dr. Lee's Bronchitis/Asthma Formula
James Earl Jones: An Autobiography (book)
It's pretty fair game to poke fun at Marvel for jumping on board pop culture bandwagons long after their ships have sailed (to mix a metaphor), but give the House of Ideas some credit in their timely TV team-ups: this FF annual came out in the summer of 1977, only one year into the four year run of the popular Gong Show. 1981's Avengers #239 appeared in 1984, just when the popular Late Night with David Letterman was in year 2 of its 11 year run on NBC, and MTU #74 captured the fervor for Saturday Night Live in its fourth year on the air. The show's still running but I'm not 'lowed to stay up that late and watch it—don't weep for me, Bully-fans, I'm in love with Miss Tina Fey on 30 Rock and I can watch that all I want. So, for every Dazzler that premieres after disco is dead and buried or U.S. 1 that debuts long after the "Convoy" 45s have been tossed in the 49¢ bin, at least Marvel had its finger on the pulse of what the nation was watching in those colorful pre-cable days. Either that or Stan had cut a contract with GE: all three of the shows featured in these comics ran on NBC. I wonder how many free light bulbs they got in the Bullpen for that deal?
Much as I'd wish otherwise, there aren't many Wodehouse books whose plots spiral around a stuffed animal. Oh sure, I can see it now: Bully at Blandings. What Ho, Bully! The Inimitable Bully. Eggs, Bully and Crumpets. But sadly, I'm not in any of 'em. But there is a Wodehouse that stars...well, if not stars, then certainly would be the poorer for the absence of...a stuffed animal: a plush Mickey Mouse that serves the vital purpose of being the essential Silver Cow Creamer (S.C.C.) in The Luck of the Bodkins (1935).
Novelists of the virile school ought to be prohibited by law from having themselves photographed with pipes in their mouths. It is not fair on those of the public who suddenly catch sight of them. It makes them look so strong and stern that the observer cannot but sustain a nasty shock.
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